


Rehabilitation

by breeeliss



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 50-word Prompts, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery Story for Azula, Romance, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 10,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breeeliss/pseuds/breeeliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azula knew how to be nothing else but cruel, tactful, and emotionless. There was no other option. But, as per his track record, the Avatar always had a way of ruining her plans. Aangzula. 50 word prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request for a user on FFN who asked for an Aang x Azula story. So here's my attempt to write a realistic progression of their relationship. I decided that prompt format was the best to portray this. 
> 
> I am not a mental health expert, but I've drawn on my own experiences to make this story realistic. If I inadvertently offend or portray something erroneous, I'd appreciate it if you guys told me :)

It was around five years before Azula was deemed well enough to return to the palace. “Well enough” sounded like “good enough,” as if there wasn’t much else that could really be done, as if there was no sense in wasting anyone else’s time. 

But Azula decided not to comment on the semantics. Freedom was freedom.


	2. Normality

Zuko kept himself surprisingly well informed regarding his sister’s progress. It was bad enough that she had to be carted back to what was once her palace and her kingdom to find Zuko — Zuzu, her idiot brother — as the Fire Lord and with royal power over her. Azula at least expected some animosity between them — something familiar enough to give her power and stability in this strange new existence. But Zuko was the kindest he had ever been to her in years.

He treated her like a little sister and he acted very much like her big brother. It was absolutely revolting.


	3. Routine

Returning to the palace was very much like living a repeat of her past. Zuko had given her her old rooms back — newly furnished and with closets filled with new clothes. He’d hired a slew of physicians to attend to her, an army of ladies to deal with her toiletries, and a collective of servants with instructions to serve only her. Sometimes, Azula dressed in the mornings in full regalia and sauntered to the throne room for a war meeting with her father. 

But she’d just be met with Zuko, sitting on a throne no longer engulfed in flames whose default reaction was always delicacy and concern. Then she’d remember: their father was in prison, and Azula hadn’t taken her medication this morning.


	4. Paradox

The medicine was a trade off. It suppressed her bending so much that she could no longer summon her blue flames, but they helped her sleep and kept away the hallucinations of her mother. It sometimes made her head feel like it was stuffed with cotton, but it stopped the random bursts of violence, panic, and anxiety that would leave her crippled in the corner of her room, crying for her mother, her brother, her father, her throne, her kingdom, anything. 

Her brother called it progress. She called it sickening.


	5. Absence

“The doctors said you’re not going to therapy.”

“...I have no intentions of taking that nonsense seriously, brother. I won’t be treated like a pet project. I’d like to keep some dignity while I still have it.”

“This is a matter of you getting better.”

“I don’t need to talk to someone about the minutia of my life.”

“You’re sick, Azula. Ill. Not well. Unhealthy. Do what you need to do to get better or you’ll stay this way. And I don’t want that for you. I want to see you get better. You have to listen to the doctors. They know what’s best.”

“No need to remind me of that, brother. I’m well aware of the fact that I’m sick. It’s all anyone will discuss. It’s as if they’re afraid I’ll forget it.”


	6. Dining

Azula had been in the palace for a little over a week when she finally saw the Avatar again. 

She had scooped up a large history book and was walking to one of the day rooms when she passed the dining room and heard guffaws of laughter pounding through the room. Azula had straightened her robes and had every intention of telling Zuko and his guest to quiet down, but when she poked her head into the dining room, she blinked at the sight she was met with. 

There was no mistaking the blue tattoos. He looked a lot older — almost as tall as Zuko with broad shoulders and a lean frame that made him look every bit as light and lithe as the air he controlled. His childish voice had broken into a polished tenor, and his rounded face had been chiseled down to a strong, angular jaw that suited his features wonderfully. 

For a moment, the word “handsome” flitted through her head, and Azula literally had to shake her head to get the traitorous thought out of her head.


	7. Behavior

She was curled up with a book from before the reign of Sozin when Zuko stopped by her room to warn her that the Avatar’s visit would be an extended one. 

Personally, Azula didn’t think the grueling trip from the Western Air Temple was a journey worthy of a two month’s rest, but Zuko merely replied that the Avatar’s business here was personal and political in nature, details that Azula needn’t worry herself over. The princess rolled her eyes and turned another page. Zuko would never admit to it, but she was the Fire Princess only in name nowadays. Political affairs were none of her business anymore. 

Azula kicked him out of her room and gave him an unconvincing promise that she would behave.


	8. Tome

She’d bumped into him accidentally in the library the next morning. 

He was sat innocently on a chaise, balancing a heavy tome on his lap as he carefully flitted through pages of books Azula were sure that she had attempted to read when she was a child. It seemed that the Avatar hadn’t been here for even a total of three days before he decided to traipse around the palace as if he owned the place — as if he had any rights to be in their family’s library, picking up whatever books he pleased. 

Azula slammed the oak door open the rest of the way, making sure the handles knocked mercilessly against the wall behind it. The Avatar jumped in his seat and floated a few inches over the chaise before calming his shock and settling his nerves. He immediately closed the old book and placed it on the chaise next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he responded in that deep voice that was still so startling to hear. “I didn’t expect anyone to be up this early.”

Azula narrowed her eyes. “I’m up at dawn most days. And usually I like to see this library vacated at that hour.”

She had meant for the statement to be threatening — in order to deter him, scare him, make clear her annoyance of having him here — but he merely smiled brightly, calmly returned the book to the shelf he had plucked it from and bowed to the princess before leaving. “Apologies, princess. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He shut the door behind him, and left Azula standing there in shock.


	9. Ultimatum

Azula had demanded to know why on Earth the Avatar was traversing the palace as it were his own home. 

It didn’t seem like Zuko had taken the complaints seriously, but Azula simply could not tolerate the fact that her former enemy was welcomed so casually as a guest in their own home. She didn’t even want to discuss the fact that he had actually bowed to her and called her Princess. He didn’t seem to keen on showing her respect when they were younger, and it seemed almost impossible to believe that any of that could have changed. 

But Zuko explained that he had given Aang the keys to the library, and that he was free to peruse their history books as his leisure. That was final.


	10. Hooky

While lunch was being prepared, Azula told the chefs to crush all of her medication into her tea, and bring her meal straight to her room. In fact, she corrected, all of her meals from now on should be brought to her chambers from now on, and her place at the dining table should not be set any longer. 

She would not be dining in the dining room with the Avatar and The Fire Lord. She’d rather singe her own face.


	11. Research

Sometimes, when it was really late at night and the herbs she took right before bed started keeping her up again, Azula went through every single action in her mind and thought of how she could have done better. 

It was less that she was sore about the Fire Nation losing the war. It was more that she was sore about being defeated by her sniveling brother and a peasant!

There had to have been a hole. A mistake. One hair out of place. Almost perfect, but not quite. 

She tore through all the old war manuals, journals of past generals, history books, and militant strategy texts that her father had ever given her as a child. She scoured the pages, memorized the words, read them out loud, and threw the scrolls and books about her room in a frenzied frustration. 

There had to be an answer — a reason for her failures. There just had to be.


	12. Mess

The servants asked the next morning what had happened last night once they found all the ripped out pages and books with broken spines thrown all over the room. 

Azula was sat in a chair looking out her balcony window and didn’t answer them. 

It was commonplace to find broken mirrors, cracked furniture, ripped up books, and crumpled sheets in the corner. It was the new normal, and Azula didn’t feel like explaining or justifying it. 

They cleaned her room in silence.


	13. The Witching Hour

It was horribly late — almost the dead of night — when Azula crept through the palace with nothing but a flame pulsing in her palm for light. She was having trouble sleeping again, and it was time to go to the library and collect a fresh new bundle of books to read anyway. 

But then there he was again — the Avatar, this time sat in front of the fireplace and quietly reading through an old scroll that must have been older than her grandfather. He was handling the delicate paper carefully when he finally turned and regarded the princess that had just entered the room. He remained quiet for a moment before he answered with a teasing smirk, “Am I not allowed to be here late at night either?”

Azula felt her teeth grinding. Admittedly, it would have been petty to answer yes, although she was tempted to. But, Zuko said that the Avatar was allowed in this room, and she didn’t need to hear him whining at her about her promises to behave and her respecting his decisions. Although why the Avatar was up at such an ungodly hour was probably the biggest mystery of all this. 

Still, it made no difference to Azula. She tightened the sash of her robe and lifted her nose in the air. “You could trip into the fireplace for all I care. Just stay quiet and stay out of my way.”


	14. Stoic

Azula didn’t think she was ever going to get used to this quieter, more subdued version of the Avatar. 

He still greeted staff with bright smiles, laughed with the guards, and joked around with the chefs, but it was so clear that his youth had been chiseled away to reveal a finer maturity that Azula had to quietly acknowledge. His bearing when he walked down the halls was confident, potent and stable — something that greatly contrasted the almost manic, childish, foolish countenance he held in the past. 

What was more strange was how quiet and thoughtful he could be. He’d sit on the balconies meditating, he’d stand by the windows and stare out at the gardens, and he’d sit in the library, silent as a mouse, reading through volumes and volumes of old history and philosophy books while Azula brooded in the corner and did her best to ignore him. 

She was trying to find reasons to hate him or to at least be annoyed by him, but there was nothing to pick at. She supposed that was what was most irritating of all.


	15. Favors

It was the middle of the afternoon when he had rushed into the library, causing Azula to look up from her reading by the window seat. 

Zuko and the Avatar were apparently in the middle of negotiations regarding the lifting of economic sanctions on the Earth Kingdom, but she supposed that this was their recess, so she decided not to pay much attention to him. Over the past week, the two of them had taken to sharing the library harmoniously, if such a thing were even possible. The Avatar kept to himself, Azula had no intentions of speaking to him, and it strangely worked to their advantage that neither of them needed to butt heads. So long as he didn’t bother Azula, she really couldn’t care less what he did. 

Except, this time, it seemed like the Avatar was set on breaking that unspoken promise. He cleared his throat a couple of times and waited until Azula finally rolled her eyes and put her book down to speak to him. “What is it?” she replied nastily. 

He didn’t really look scared per se — Azula was intimately aware of what scared looked like — but he seemed almost...nervous. Reluctant. It was probably the most unsettled she had seen him since his time here. He was staring at the ground, looking at his feet, and looking for a moment like the child she remembered. His hesitance quickly started to grow bothersome, and she was about to yell at him until he opened his mouth and quietly asked, “Would you happen to have any books on Fire Nation economic theory?”

The question took Azula aback only for a moment before she raised a brow and answered, “Perhaps. Any particular reason why you would want something of the sort? Isn’t it above your nomadic intellect?”

Instead of offending him, the jab seemed to amuse the Avatar since he answered with a soft chuckle. “I suppose we’ll find out, now won’t we?” He folded his hands behind his back. “Zuko said you’d know where to find them. You know this library better than he does.”

Azula shut her book and put it down on the seat next to her. She wasn’t sure that she believed that Zuko had said that, but a subtle compliment of that sort definitely seemed like something a quiet, pacifist monk would be capable of. 

Deciding that this was the quickest way to return to her own reading, Azula stood up and waved him over to one of the ladders leading up to the higher shelves. “Well, come on then. I have no desire to show you where they are more than once.”


	16. Familiarity

The Avatar always seemed to be looking for books on the Fire Nation in high volumes. 

Economic theory, political theory, domestic history, philosophical rhetoric, cultural evolution, monarchical evolution — some days, he would come in with an actual list of demands. 

At first, it was downright bothersome. The Avatar didn’t seem too deterred by being ignored, and would wander aimlessly through the library until Azula finally gave up, sighed insufferably, and directed him to the proper shelf so he could hurry up and stop making so much noise. She had her own studies to do. 

However, after a few days of this, Azula began to privately be impressed over some of the books he’d sit down to read. It wasn’t as if Azula had much of an idea about what these talks with Zuko entailed — Let’s get you better before you start dabbling in politics again, Azula — but she supposed it was enough to make the Avatar want to sit down, study, and learn as much about the nation that caused him so much torment as possible. 

Azula snorted. A curious man indeed.


	17. Matter-Of-Fact

“Your history books are all wrong.”

Azula rolled her eyes and faced the armchair in the corner opposite hers. “Excuse me?”

The Avatar turned another page and wrinkled his nose over the contents. “Monk Chongan wasn’t a commander of the Air Nomad’s militia,” he replied. “And he certainly didn’t lead a charge on the Fire Nation army when they had infiltrated the Southern Air Temple.”

The princess furrowed her brows and spoke to him slowly as if he were a child. “That’s a history textbook that was written ten months after those initial attacks. There is no way they could be wrong.”

Usually, they did not discuss matters such as history or politics together — Azula was content with silence and the Avatar didn’t seem to keen on interrupting that — but for some reason the damned Airbender was talkative today for whatever reason. “That doesn’t change the fact that this is all wrong. For one thing, Air Nomads never had a formal military. We didn’t believe in fighting...”

“Ah yes,” Azula continued immediately after. “I forgot. You clearly know more than our nation’s textbooks.”

The Avatar shrugged his shoulders, stood up, and headed for the table piled high with more reading material that he intended to get through today. “Of course I do,” he responded rather simply. “Consider me a walking relic — a breathing history scroll. I know more about the nomads than your entire nation combined. I know when the books are wrong.”

“That’s rather presumptuous of you,” Azula snarled. 

“Is it?” the Avatar asked in confusion. “I just think it’s fact. Monk Chongan made some of the best fruit tarts in the temple. He didn’t have a violent bone in his body.”


	18. Foreign

It wasn’t that Azula was at all entertained by the Avatar himself. Absolutely not. Preposterous. 

But Azula was a consumer of knowledge and information, unlike her brother who couldn’t be bothered to pick up a book once in a while and actually read instead of sketching the turtle ducks in the pond. So whenever there were chances to soak up more knowledge and lord it over someone else at all available opportunities, it was rare that Azula had ever turned her nose up at it. 

The Avatar may have been many things, but she could never say that he wasn’t a reservoir of forgotten knowledge. Because apparently, the Air Nomads didn’t function based off of monarchical governments. They were led by a Council of Elders who held no qualifications other than their wisdom earned from years of life experience, and truly, how absolutely odd was that? 

What should happen if a temple needed to enact a law or a treaty in order to govern the people? There was no order in such casual governing, no structure! But the Avatar insisted there was no need for law. Only philosophy, peace, and communing with the self. All else was unimportant. 

“That is so peculiar,” Azula decided. “Absolutely, downright peculiar.”


	19. Scholar

Azula wasn’t sure how it had happened, and she was more unsure about when she stopped being bothered by it. 

But by the end of the second week, the Avatar began losing sight of the invisible boundaries that they had initially drawn in that library. Sometimes it was to clarity something he had read — “Well of course our industry was based on metalworking recently, but before we were the leaders in tropical and exotic exports” — and sometimes it was to share with her something that she was sure she hadn’t really known — “Before the Fire Lord was head of state, you were governed by a Council of Sages just like the Air Nomads; and you call it ridiculous.” 

Other times, in truly staggering and surprising displays that Azula still hadn’t worked out, she’d go out of her way to slam a book into his lap and demand that he read it — “You were hardly educated on foreign policy during the time you were napping in that block of ice, and it’s rather embarrassing how much is shows.”

The princess tried not to attach any sentimentality to it. Zuko was more keen on walking on eggshells around her instead of engaging her in any meaningful conversation, and her staff was thoroughly scared and intimidated by her. In the past, it was her father with whom she would swap books, debate history, and discuss philosophy with. 

She supposed the Avatar would do in his absence.


	20. Island

They had progressed from sitting at completely different ends of the library to sitting in chaises right across from each other, leaning over an old map of the West that the Avatar insisted was missing important islands, while Azula insisted these islands weren’t officially recognized yet. There was a lot of pointing, a lot of arguing, and Azula had actually gone to retrieve a brush and an inkstone to mark the places where she was positive was just empty waters because she navigated there before. 

It was nearing dinner time when the Avatar stood and proposed that they continue their discussion over food. 

Not wanting to concede the argument and forgetting her promise to eat alone during the duration of the Avatar’s visit, Azula readily agreed and took their annotated map with her.


	21. Debate

“For the last time: it makes absolutely no sense to disarm an entire country. Do I need to explain to you the dangers of leaving a nation defenseless?”

“It wouldn’t happen all at once. But if we made a global effort to disarm all nations save for bare necessities, there wouldn’t be any need for wars with weapons. Only wars with words. Those are far more conducive to peace.”

“No world leader would ever agree to that. Promises on treaties only mean so much when countries like the Earth Kingdom have miles and miles of land to conduct secret arms races against us. Illogical.”

“It’s only illogical to you because you’ve grown up in a world plunged in war. You’ve literally never lived in a time of peace. I have. It’s possible. We only have to want to do it.”

“Peace is never guaranteed no matter the changes. There will always be dangers and presumptuous leaders. We have to be prepared. You’re too quick to optimism.”

“You’re too quick to conflict!” 

“...if the two of you are done arguing, I’d very much like to have my breakfast in peace.”


	22. Forgiveness

They fell into a strange sort of relationship that wasn’t exactly hostile, but wasn’t exactly friendly. There was civility, coexistence, and....grudging respect she supposed. He was a man that didn’t seem to be fazed by much — her acerbic tongue was amusing more than it was offensive, and her snappish replies were met with laughter and acquiescence. But he respected her space, respected her station, and respected her knowledge, as if all of their history was just water under the bridge. 

She supposed if the monk had it in him to forgive her brother, it was possible to forgive her as well.


	23. Sick

Azula hit him with a question the moment he walked through the room. “What do you talk about in those meetings with Zuko?”

The Avatar paused, frowned, and shrugged off the traditional Air Nomad relics that he only wore when he sat in those meetings with Zuko and the Sages. “Why do you want to know?”

The princess had no books in front of her today. No old, moth eaten pages could possibly satiate her curiosity today. She had walked past the throne room and heard the talking. She remembered those days. She remembered when she had her own seat in that throne room. Azula tried not to look at him, tried not to let him read anything off of her face. “Because I’m still the Princess. I deserve to know.”

The Avatar sighed. “Zuko says you’re not well enough.”

Azula snarled. “I’m fine!” The candles flickered as she shouted this, but Azula knew that she could hardly do any real damage anymore. The medicine ran too deep in her veins — it held too much back. 

But Aang eyed the dying candles warily and looked at her again as if he were waiting for her to produce answers that he knew she had. “I have no business getting in between arrangements between you and your brother,” the Avatar responded carefully. “But, excuse me for saying so, princess...I don’t think you’re fine.”


	24. Self-Help

He kept telling her how the politics of the nation were the least of her problems. He also kept saying her brother was competent enough to handle these things, which didn’t make Azula feel better. The Avatar was there to look over the negotiations as well, which strangely wasn’t as distasteful as she thought it should have been, but still didn’t do the job of mollifying her. 

He didn’t understand. Her place was in that throne room — sitting next to the Fire Lord, being a symbol and a presence for her people. She thrived off of importance, and she demanded it. 

But the Avatar was adamant in his opinions. He felt her when she passed his room every night when she couldn’t sleep, and he heard the mutters from the servants about the broken windows and destroyed furniture that they had cleaned up that morning. It seemed like those things were a little more pressing. 

Azula couldn’t open her mouth to agree or disagree.


	25. Talk

Azula wasn’t sure who had told him — her brother was a likely candidate. Although, considering how well the Avatar got along with everyone in the palace he wasn’t even supposed to know, Azula wouldn’t have put it past him to have spoken with one of her physicians. 

He was sitting on the floor in front of the chaise Azula was lying on. “They said you’re not talking to anyone.”

She brought an arm up to cover her eyes. “No. I’m not.”

“I heard it helps,” the Avatar tried to explain gently. “It doesn’t have to be about anything important. But talking always helps. Keeps things from festering.”

Azula snorted. “I always let things fester. I don’t need to talk to anyone.”

“It’s not a matter of needing,” the Avatar explained. “It’s a matter of wanting. Who do you want to talk to?”

The princess disagreed with that entire statement. It wasn’t a matter of wanting, and it certainly wasn’t a matter of needing. 

But perhaps it was a matter of who she could talk to. 

As frightening, shocking, and almost disturbing as the revelation was, the only person she could talk to nowadays was the very same person she had almost killed numerous times. The same person who schooled her on history she knew nothing about. The same person who sat with her late at night in the library, talking about the world. The same person who was sat next to her, probably offering his version of a helping hand. 

And, truly, how had that happened?


	26. Names

He had approached her with a concession one evening when they were walking back to their rooms at the same time after a long evening of discussing old Fire Nation literature — for lack of anything else to read. 

Their camaraderie was present, but still felt formal, he had explained to her. They still spoke in titles, and the Avatar wondered if they could perhaps begin speaking in names. 

Azula stared at him oddly, but didn’t curl away in disgust like she probably would have a few weeks ago when he first arrived. The problem with the monk was that he argued with logic, logic that she could rarely excuse herself out of. Persons who spent as much time together as they did surely refer to each other by name, he explained. But they’d only do it if she was comfortable. 

It wasn’t that Azula was uncomfortable. But such a simple request still felt like the crossing of a line — moving from something safe into something a little more personal. Personal with the Avatar — and admittedly that had a lot to do with things. 

But, no one had to know about it. Not the servants. Not the sages. Not her brother. It wouldn’t hurt her, and the monk certainly wasn’t the type to tease or to lord small victories over her. 

So she agreed to let him call her Azula. And she agreed to start calling him Aang.


	27. Skip

She had decided one morning that she didn’t like the way the tea she took in the mornings had been making her feel. 

Doctors mentioned something about higher dosages, more concentrated amounts, and all that made her want to do is sit in her room and not move, not talk, not eat, not do anything. And she hated the feeling. 

So she had made the executive decision to pour her tea out the window when her servants weren’t looking. One cup of medicinal tea out of four couldn’t possibly make much of a difference. If it meant clearing her head, she’d take the sacrifice.


	28. Visions

She didn’t know if it was her mother hiding in the mirrors or her father hiding in the windows or Mai’s knives hitting the walls or Ty Lee’s jabs aching her joints or if it was Zuko’s firebending coming from the fireplace or if it was that Waterbender’s ice that was chilling her bones or if it was none of it or all of it or if everyone was working together to unhinge her or if she was going crazy again or if she should leave or if she should just stay and try to listen and wait it out — 

The ringing in her ears was getting worse and she quickly shot flames out of her fists where her father’s voice was coming from. He was chuckling in her ears, making fun of her subpar bending — as if she could help that!! — and decided that picking up her silver tray of tea and flinging it towards the window would work better. 

The glass shattered and the platter fell into the gardens below while she screamed. “Shut up! Just shut up, father! I’m not sick! I’m not weak! I am fine!!”


	29. Panic

Azula was gasping for air, crying in frustration, and demanding to speak to her father who was still probably talking down to her in her room. Her heart was racing, her skin was crawling, and she was feeling as if she might die. 

Zuko was sat in front of her fireplace, holding her face in between her hands and muttering sweet words that were meant to calm her down. 

She recognized the Avatar — Aang — sitting behind her, holding her arms at her sides, keeping her from scratching at her arms, and rocking her back and forth in an attempt to get her breathing under control. His thumbs were making comforting circles on her upper arms, and he was muttering quietly in her ear, telling her when to breathe in and when to breathe out. 

Slowly, she became aware of more — the Avatar’s chest pressed against her back, Zuko now holding one of her hands and holding it up to his lips. The tears stopped, and the breathing slowed, and all she could bring herself to do was to lean back into the Avatar’s warmth and let her brother’s words soothe her to sleep.


	30. Tea

Aang was pushing cups of tea into her hands, tea filled with medicine that she didn’t want to take. 

“Drink it,” Aang begged her. “You were a mess a couple of nights ago. I don’t want to see that happen to you again.”

She stared at him suspiciously and clicked her nails against the cup. “Since when are you so concerned?”

Aang gave her a withering stare. “I wouldn’t wish that sort of experience on anyone. Not even you.”

Her tangled hair was falling into her eyes and she dipped her head down to take a grudging sip of her tea, but his fingers immediately reached out and combed it back, tucking the loose strands behind her hair to keep her face free. Her mind suddenly flitted back to the feeling of having him pressed against her, holding her shaking body, whispering calming words into her ears, helping her brother calm her down. All things he didn’t have to do. 

The cup stopped just short of her lips and she asked him, “Weren’t you supposed to be leaving this morning? Your two months are up.”

Aang’s hand dropped back into his lap, and smiled softly. “I can afford to stay for a bit longer.”


	31. Worry

She accused him of pitying her. 

It was a disgusting feeling, and she wondered if that was the reason he was suddenly so keen on walking her to her bedroom every evening, or always asking her how her day was going, or always pouring her tea, or always opening doors for her. 

If there was one thing that Azula wasn’t, it was someone who was beyond repair — someone who was cracking apart in a manner so heartbreaking that people couldn’t help but treat her like a dying animal. She had yelled this much at him in the library when she had no interest in reading, no interest in talking, and frankly no interest in even looking at him if all of those suspicions happened to be true. 

But she forgot — he was never fazed by her. 

Aang smiled sadly and told her, “Pity would imply that I think you’re weak. I don’t pity you. I think you’re incredibly strong. But I do worry about you.”

Azula snarled. “Because you find me pathetic.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Because I care.”

The idea seemed ludicrous. “Care?” she practically spat out. “About me? Don’t be daft…”

Aang shrugged. “I don’t think anyone can call themselves human and say they don’t care about another person’s pain.”


	32. Father

“You have dreams about him a lot, you know.”

“About who?”

“Your father. Sometimes your mother, but...lately it’s been your father.”

“And how in the name of the spirits would you even know that?”

“You talk in your sleep. Well...shout I guess would be a better word. But our rooms aren’t far from one another. I can hear you.”

“...hm.”

“...do you visit him?”

“No. Brother, does. Sometimes. To be frank, he’s past visiting. I imagine he’s going mad down there.”

“He’s...adamant that he’ll break out one day and finish his work.”

“Well, then he’s a fool.”

“You don’t agree with him?”

“I may be sore, but I’m not delusional. I know defeat when I see it. It’s as you said. We’re living in peace now.”

“Maybe he’d come around if you spoke to him.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s the most stubborn man on the planet. He hated Zuko, he held me up to perfection, and he resented all attacks on his pride. There’s no “coming around” for a man like that.”

“...perfection, huh?”

“Oh yes. Princess Azula. Beautiful. Smart. Prodigious. Flawless. Not one hair out of place. The man refused to accept anything less.”


	33. React

Azula realized far too late that Aang had tricked her into doing the one thing she said she wouldn’t: talking. 

Back at the institution she was locked up in for five years, the doctors liked to play head games with her, trick her into answering questions, put things into her head she weren’t sure were true, and try to puzzle out her thoughts and actions as if all her actions has some deep, psychological root. It was degrading and humiliating — had been for the past five years — but she created walls and blacks that she wouldn’t allow anyone to get past, least of all a team of dimwitted doctors she had no connection to. 

When she was finally given the choice to accept the doctor’s help here at the palace, she quickly said no. 

Aang simple asked her things: about how she was feeling, whether he could help, about her father, about her brother, about growing up. Most things she refused to answer, but Aang took the rejection for what it was and picked safer topics. If she did decide in a moment of sentimentality to reveal something, he simply took what he was given and treated it like a secret given to him that he should keep safe and not sully with analysis. 

It wasn’t about piecing apart her past for Aang: it was about listening, and reacting, something she wasn’t altogether used to.


	34. Calm

It took a while for Azula to put a name to it, but Aang had a calming effect on her. 

There was always something insubstantial about him — perhaps it was his being the Avatar, or his nomadic upbringing. But slowly, Aang’s presence stopped being a nuisance and started becoming a relief, and it was the single most confusing admission she had ever made to herself. 

She sought an answer from him by admitting that trying to talk to Zuko was nothing short of infuriating. She couldn’t do it, nor did she want to.”

“I think that’s because your pasts are so connected,” Aang explained. “The two of you still have a lot of rough patches to fix. Of course talking with him is hard.”

Azula glared out her bedroom window. “Talking is talking, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Aang continued. “You have to be compatible with the other person. Someone that you don’t share a personal history with. Someone who’s unbiased. Someone who isn’t judgemental and can let you speak freely.”

Azula turned to him. “We have a personal history,” she deadpanned. 

Aang lifted a finger and smiled. “We may have history, but it was never personal. It was all business. If it was personal, you wouldn’t be letting me sit in your room, and you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

She merely rolled her eyes and looked back into her lap when he had said that, but Azula wondered if that was the reason being around him put her at ease. Someone with whom personal strife wasn’t a give in. Someone without a judgmental bone in their body.


	35. Exercise

When another month had passed and the weather had finally started to get warmer, Aang had dragged her out into the courtyards and insisted that she try and build up her bending. 

At first, she had no desire to. If she was being honest, she was scared to have physical evidence of just how much her bending had been affected by her treatment. To see failure in real life was far more humiliating than internalizing it. 

But it didn’t seem like the monk was at all concerned about her worries. Every day for close to a week, he’d come bounding into her room with a smile plastered across his face, urge her into the courtyard, and ask her to at least flow through some basic sets. For a few days, she refused, and Aang simply practiced his own Firebending in the courtyard while Azula seethed in the shadows. But one day, Aang had gone through a rather shoddy set of bending, and Azula couldn’t help but stand and show him how he was meant to shift his weight through the stances. 

“You learned from Zuko, I can tell,” Azula commented. “He always struggled with the nuances of proper posture.”

Their times spent exercising always switched from Azula nitpicking at his Firebending — Aang, honestly, that was a rubbish excuse for a fire punch — and Azula finally getting a handle on her chi and managing to run through some basic Firebending moves that were easy and familiar. It was exercise that slowly started to make Azula feel more like herself. There was never a feeling comparable to the feeling of bending, and it was one of the few times that she could honestly say she had complete control over herself — no more mind playing tricks and no more herbs making her feel like a stranger in her own body. 

It took weeks for her to warm up her muscles and get back into shape. While her blue flames were still absent and lightning was out of the question, Azula eventually fell back into the advanced forms of Firebending that she had always been known for and that she was still able to perform with deadly precision and expert accuracy. 

One afternoon, when she had finished her workout, she heard Aang clapping in congratulations, sitting on the the edge of the courtyard and giving her a beaming smile. 

Azula chalked it up to the head rush that her sudden elation had given her at that moment, but she quietly smirked back at him.


	36. Notice

“You’re spending an awful lot of time together,” Zuko noticed over breakfast one day. 

Azula shrugged and waved her empty plate away. She was starting to get some of her appetite back. “It’s nothing,” she commented. She adjusted the sash around the training outfit she was wearing and stood from her seat. She wanted to train this morning before her bath in the afternoon. “I’m just getting back into bending, and Aang just happens to tag along like the nosy monk that he is. Besides, his Firebending stances are atrocious, thanks to you.”

Zuko frowned at the jab at his teaching skills. “I’d like to see you try and train a novice Firebender in only a month.” He paused for a moment and picked up his tea with a smile. “Did you just call him Aang?”

The princess paused as she pushed her chair into the table. She darted her eyes towards her brother and narrowed them. “No. I said the Avatar.”

“No you didn’t,” Zuko teased. “I heard you. Since when are you on first name basis with Aang?”

Azula began to pick up her hair. “I am not, you insufferable idiot!” she snapped. “Besides, I thought you were the one who insisted I call him by name.”

“I never expected you to heed that advice, and for a while you didn’t,” Zuko defended. “The two of you are getting rather close, aren’t you?”

The princess snarled and started to make her way towards the doors. “Stop reading into things, brother. We’re not getting close. We’re merely sharing a space and interacting as a result. No need to add sentimentality where it doesn’t belong.”

Zuko shrugged and returned to his tea. “Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Aang has been here for close to four months. It’s clear that something is keeping him here.”

Admittedly, that did make Azula stop in her tracks and hesitate for a moment. But she shook her head and barged out of the dining room before Zuko managed to spout something else embarrassing.


	37. Attraction

The word “handsome” was starting scuttle in and out of her mind, but this time Azula was having a hard time completely dismissing it. 

Originally, it had been easy to appreciate that the word was dependent on purely aesthetic observations. Things like a lithe toned chest during a morning spar, a hand brushing along an angular jaw while in the middle of reading, or a grin filled with pearly teeth in response to an annoyed glare were things easily chalked up to favorable genetics. It wasn’t anything incriminating, and as far as Azula was concerned, there was nothing wrong with privately admitting that the Avatar wasn’t ugly. 

Ty Lee always talked about tightening chests, long stares, and warm cheeks when she mentioned boys. Azula thought it was merely the physiological effects of seeing someone attractive, and that was enough for Azula to write off the symptoms just like she wrote off nightmares or panic. 

But the same feelings sprouted up when Aang held open a door, brought her a history scroll he thought she’d like, walked her to her room at night, complimented her Firebending, or sat with her until dawn, listening to her rant, rave, complain, talk, and reminisce. 

That was harder to ignore.


	38. Love

“Whatever happened to that Waterbender?”

Aang was cycling through some Earthbending stances — a rather brutish martial art, no finesse — when she had asked him, and was attempting to continue without faltering his exercises. “What?”

Azula sighed underneath the shade of one of the gazebo awnings near the turtle duck pond. “You know, that Water Tribe peasant you were always traveling with.”

His attacks were still coming strong — a barrage of kicks and punches propelling sizeable hunks of rock at a slab of stone that he had bended for target practice. “Her name is Katara.”

The peasant’s name wasn’t important. She ignored him. “Either way, I spent years hearing the orderlies gossip about your love story. I’d have expected her to be here with you.”

That earned Azula a deep chuckle. “That must have been years ago when you heard that.”

Azula frowned. She supposed that much was true. It was the topic of conversation amongst the entire staff up until about two years ago when Azula had spent a decided number of days in solitary confinement for misbehaving. Gossip wasn’t exactly forthcoming in that environment. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “How do you know? You haven’t answered my question.”

Aang suddenly kicked a rock at the stone slab rather roughly as it left a large crack right down the middle of the slab. He sighed and wiped his discarded shirt along the back of his neck, collecting the sweat that had accumulated there. “Well…” he hesitated. “Let’s just say that young love often feels like it will last longer than it actually will.”

If there was one thing that Azula had picked up on from hanging around the Avatar for so long, it was that he grew cryptic when he wanted to be evasive. “So you’re no longer seeing each other.”

He simply shook his head in response. However, Azula didn’t seem ready to accept that. “Zuko would speak about how much in love the two of you were. That’s a foolish excuse.”

Aang shrugged. “Oh we love each other. That I know for sure. But it isn’t the love you’re thinking of. It won’t ever be.”

“And how would you know?” Azula questioned. “You speak as if you’re an expert.”

“Not an expert, no,” Aang corrected. He turned to walk over to the gazebo she was resting under, leaning against one of the pillars to stare down at her. “But I’ve felt more than one type of love for more than one person. I’ve learned how to differentiate between them all.” He grinned. “Why do you ask?”

Azula huffed and stood from her seat, giving him her back. “Nothing.” It was a horrible way to leave the conversation — she just knew that Aang was reading into her questioning — but her own curiosity needed to be satiated. It was started to become rather apparent that Azula had some very strange, innate reactions and feelings towards the things that Aang did for her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone else that was making Aang feel a similar. 

It made sense for that someone else to the Waterbender, but apparently the Avatar’s interests lay elsewhere.


	39. Kiss

Azula couldn’t have possibly pinpointed the moment where things shifted — where things stopped being simple and compartmentalized and when things started to become blurred with confusion and feelings. Lots of feelings. Feelings that Azula never thought she’d ever experience. 

Her first kiss hadn’t been anything special — a quick affair with a boy that was attractive and nothing else. Turns out he was more scared and fascinated with her than anything else. The fascination was nice, but the scared part only worked with enemies, not people you wanted to kiss again. But she had decided in that moment that romance was rubbish and a waste of time, and that there were other ways to spend her time. 

But the feelings that had erupted momentarily on Ember Island were starting to ignite now into a bigger inferno — one that was positively blinding. 

It was the way he stared at her when they had finally stopped at her door. It was the way that he looked at her in wonder as if it was truly a miracle and a privilege for him to be standing before her. While usually that wonder was something that filled Azula with pride, this time it filled her with something else — a nervousness, but with a different undertone than usual. An excited nervousness. A desire to have him say something, do something, step closer, anything. 

He grabbed her hand and brought her knuckles up to his lips as he placed a quick, chaste kiss there. Immediately, her skin flushed and she was hyper aware of the simple feeling of his lips against her hand. For once, she was speechless and couldn’t utter a response. Her throat was dry and she was afraid her throat was broken. 

But it went further than that. Once he dropped her hand, he hesitated for a moment, nibbled on his bottom lip, and leaned in quickly to place another short kiss on her cheek, centimeters away from the corner of her mouth. 

And oh, it felt so much nicer than the kiss on her hand. Nice like it warmed her body, and made her fingertips tingle, and made her want to gasp in buckets of air to help the dizziness in her head. 

Her eyes had fluttered shut when he had kissed her, and she had only noticed when she finally blinked them open and saw Aang bowing to her. 

“Good night, Azula. Sweet dreams.”


	40. Discordant

Azula was a tactician. So everything was solved with logic and infallible proof. 

Sans those two things, there were no rational decisions she could make. Ironically, in this situation, she supposed that was fitting. 

Azula and Aang were completely at odds with each other. For so long, she had been a force of power and deceit, while had been a force of benevolence and humility. It was natural that they were enemies during the war, and it was meant to be natural for that relationship to continue. But things that seemed so innate were suddenly crumbling before her, and she suddenly remembered the one thing that her doctors had repeatedly told her that she hadn’t outright ignored. 

“People don’t exist in a vacuum, Azula. No one is inherently bad or good. We’re all multi-faceted — equally capable of anything and nothing.”


	41. Avoidance

It wasn’t that she was angry with him. She wasn’t even displeased. She was — to be frank — terribly confused. 

It couldn’t have been a ploy or a trick — Aang was capable of neither of those things, especially when matters of the heart were concerned. It could have been that she had been incorrectly interpreting all the signs she had been receiving, and before that would have been a perfect excuse to fall back on. But things were different — tenderness and kissing weren’t platonic activities between coincidental companions, and it was foolish to convince herself otherwise. 

There was only one explanation for why Aang would do what he did. It also happened to be the same explanation for why Azula didn’t push him away, deter the attention, or even voice a single complaint. She knew that this was, and it was downright offputting. 

She didn’t go to the library. Didn’t go out for bending. Asked for her meals to be brought to her room once again. When he came to knock on her door, she didn’t answer, didn’t budge, and didn’t listen to his pleas for her to please talk to him and say what he did wrong. 

He did nothing wrong. And that was the problem.


	42. Sibling

Azula had bathed, dressed, eaten, and crawled right back under her blankets. She didn’t feel like doing anything. At first, it felt like those times when the doctors put a little bit too much of her herbs into one of her teas, but those usually accompanied headaches and sleepiness. None of that was present. She was just feeling entirely lethargic and she wasn’t sure why. 

Zuko had knocked, but when he received no response, he opened her door anyway with the keys the servants gave him. “You have to leave your room sometime, you know.”

Azula childishly flipped the blanket over her head. “Get out, Zuko!”

There was no answer, but Zuko merely shut the door behind him and entered the room. He pulled out a chair next to Azula’s bed. “I know this is about Aang. Let’s stop pretending that isn’t why you’re avoiding everyone.”

It wasn’t everyday that Zuko actually decided to sit with Azula and just talk. They coexisted, they were pleasant with each other, they no longer acted as if they wanted to kill each other. It was surprising how much her father, the war, and her sickness had fueled her ire towards him. Now that all three were absent, things were cracked, but palatable. Perhaps it was because she was feeling less like herself today than usual, perhaps she was really underestimating how bothered she was by this whole affair, or perhaps talking to her brother was better than talking to no one at all. 

She swallowed, stared at the threading of her blankets, and sighed out, “He kissed me.”

“And?” her brother prompted. 

“He shouldn’t have.”

In a rare show of perceptiveness, Zuko responded, “He shouldn’t have because it was a mistake, or he shouldn’t have because you don’t understand why he did it?”

She didn’t respond to his question, so he merely continued instead, taking a moment to smooth down her hair. “Don’t think too hard about this, Azula,” he said softly, comfortingly, like big brothers were supposed to sound. “Often the simplest explanation is the best.”


	43. Wanting

What do I want?

It was something that she had asked herself while she was still locked in a cell, when she had come home to the palace, when she found herself spending long lazy days in libraries, and when she finally found herself in the company of the Avatar. 

She always wanted what her father wanted, because her father’s approval was all that mattered in their home. Be cruel. Be perfect. Be unlike your brother. But her father was busy rotting in a cell, and his opinion no longer mattered. There was no war waging that would allow her to use the skills her father spent years hammering into her soul. To be frank, she had no desire to use them for war so much as she simply wanted to use them for something. 

If she could not be useful to her father, the only person worth being useful to was herself. She only needed to do what she wanted. 

She laid out on the chaise and stared at the chair that Aang almost always occupied when they sat here and read, talked, or just basked in the other’s presence. 

She nibbled on her bottom lip. What do I want?


	44. Departure

It was nearly sunrise when she marched down the hall, stood in front of his door, and pounded on it for all it was worth. 

“Aang!” she shouted through the wood, not paying attention to the couple of servants that were down the hall, drawing the curtains and scrubbing the glass panes. “Open the damn door, I need to speak with you about something important.”

There was no accounting for whether he’d want to speak to her, or whether he’d open the door. But she’d had enough of moping in her room like some simpering teenager with no initiative. She was the Crowned Princess of the Fire Nation, damn it. If it meant anything nowadays, it certainly meant that she did not cower before things that made her uncomfortable. If she was worth her salt, hiding and evading was not an option. Her speciality was acting and attacking, so that’s what she would do. 

So she worked out a script in her head, and came to Aang’s door. 

There was no answer, so she pounded on the door again, demanding that he come out and face her. It was around the fourth round of knocks when a meek, young servant girl cleared her throat behind Azula and made the princess turn to her. 

“Um…” the girl muttered. “The Avatar has, um...packed his belongings. That room is vacated.”

Azula furrowed her brows. “Vacated? What on earth are you talking about?”

The servant girl lifted her hands. “I’m not sure of the specifics, but I saw him collecting his things last night. I was under the impression that he was preparing to leave the palace.”


	45. Tipping Point

For once, Azula didn’t think. There was no time. 

It was very rare for someone as calculated and planned out as Azula to resort to anything as unpredictable and haphazard as feelings and instinct. It was always unreliable — always imperfect. It was the very antithesis of how Azula functioned. 

But Azula had never lost much of anything. She always got the things she wanted, and what she didn’t get she took for herself. Her freedom was stripped from her when she was forced into that damn mental facility for close to five years, and she swore to herself when she had finally returned that nothing of the sort would ever happen to her again. 

Then, suddenly, as if possessed by something she didn’t completely understand, Azula ran. Ran down the hallways, past the dining room, past the throne room, and towards the front doors of the palace. She looked like a fool. She was sure she did. But her mind had immediately come to a consensus that her body had immediately reacted to. 

She didn’t want Aang to leave.


	46. Favors

“So you just pack up in secret without telling me?”

She had found him feeding his bison while sitting on one of the taller piles of hay bales. There were no packed bags, the saddle wasn’t affixed, and it didn’t seem like Aang was going anywhere anytime soon. She supposed that was a relief. But there was no ignoring the empty room, the scarcity of belongings, and the fact that the servants seemed to know more than she. 

Aang had the decency to turn away from his friend and face her, his back immediately straightening up. “...what are you doing here?”

Azula scoffed. “Is that all you have to say when you’ve completely vacated your quarters?”

Aang looked like he wanted to respond, but his mouth immediately closed and he looked back to his left where his bison was quietly eating. His fingers were clenched tightly around his staff, something she hadn’t seen him holding in a while. “...my business is done here. There’s no real reason for me to stay any longer.”

“So you leave like a thief?”

“I didn’t know that it would bother you so much!”

Azula felt like screaming. “Of course it would bother me you idiot!” she scolded. “You don’t just get up and leave after you’ve been here for months.”

The Avatar jumped down from his perch, grabbed his staff, and petted his bison before making his way to Azula in the doorway of the stables. “Look...I didn’t want to leave things on a worse note than they already are. I figured I was doing you a favor.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” Azula mocked. “In the future, don’t try and do me any favors.”

The condescension and yelling must have getting to him because he gripped his staff tighter and scowled. “Do you blame me?” he accused harshly. “You avoided me for nearly a week, wouldn’t leave your room, wouldn’t even talk to me through the door. I assumed you wanted nothing to do with me.”

She blinked at his response, not expecting the rough tone and treatment. It wasn’t quite clear to herself what she was running away from for a whole week, but it wasn’t as simple as the Avatar was making it sound. “That’s….” she swallowed. “That’s ridiculous.”

Aang shrugged helplessly, as if there was nothing else he could do. “I don’t think it is.” He walked past her and out the stable.


	47. Sacrifice

When Azula had first attempted to bend lightning and had her efforts literally explode in her face, her father would regularly regale her with the same advice. Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable. Every step towards the goal requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle. He’d tell her to patch up her burns, and try again. No one got anywhere without giving up something valuable — something important, something coveted. 

Perhaps her pride was a large thing to give up for the sake of mending a relationship that Azula hadn’t expected to fall into. But seeing Aang walk past her that afternoon without his normal smiles, waves, and pleasantries was suddenly so unsettling and bothersome. It made her feel sick. It made her feel alone. It made her feel like she was regressing, like she was stepping backwards into a place where she was angry at everything that moved and felt like she could talk to no one. It may have been a painful admission to make in the beginning, but she…

...well, she never wanted to feel like that again.


	48. Homecoming

She stopped him when he was pulling a bag stuffed with his meager belongings over his shoulder. It was late, and the lanterns in the hallway were the only things illuminating the dark palace. It wasn’t much, but Azula could see the light reflecting off of his features, and for a moment she felt that sick feeling in her chest that made her realize that she needed to stop kidding herself and start realizing that maybe she was finally feelings things more strongly than she had ever thought. His meek smile had solidified that for her, and made the prospect not entirely terrible. 

Aang paused in front of her, looking from the ground and into her eyes. “I was going to come say goodbye.”

Azula didn’t look away from him, not letting her nerves get the better of her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted quietly. “But...I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

She frowned. “Did anyone actually tell you this?”

“No, but I didn’t need anyone to tell me.”

Azula gulped in air through her nose. “Fine. Then I’ll tell you myself.”

Then, she did the stupidest thing of her life: she grabbed his face, stood on her toes, and kissed him. But not the ghost of a kiss near her lips that Aang had given her a week ago. This was a proper one: one where their lips met full on and Azula felt sparks shoot through her body in a manner that had nothing to do with the lightning she used to be able to bend. 

It was nothing like the first short kiss she had when she was fifteen. This was longer, deeper, and dizzying. Aang’s arms immediately curled around her waist, and her hands travelled on their own accord to brace themselves on the back of Aang’s neck. And truly, nothing had ever felt this glorious in a long time. Simple things like their bodies flush against each other, Aang’s fingertips pressing gently into her skin, and the small pauses in between their kisses when she’d take a breath and he’d take a moment to smile were things that Azula never had, and never knew until now that she needed. 

Her father always warned her: never be sentimental, never succumb to emotion, you never needed anyone but yourself. 

This was the first moment where Azula began to wonder if that was ever true. 

When they finally separated, Azula merely told him one thing. “I want you to stay.”


	49. Balance

Zuko had smiled at her at the breakfast table that morning while Aang was busy arranging for rooms that were slightly more permanent. Azula’s chopsticks paused in her mouth for a moment as she raised her brows at her brother. She took them out of her mouth and tapped them against her bowl. “I’ll shove these into your eye sockets if you keep staring.”

But her brother merely shook her head and grinned. “You’re looking a lot better. Brighter, almost.”

Azula seemed unenthused. “That’s quite the compliment,” she replied dryly. 

He laughed. “You know what I mean,” he said. “I’m assuming you two made amends.”

“That’s none of your business,” Azula argued back. 

Zuko shrugged. “I know. I’m not asking for specifics. I just wanted you to know that...it’s good to say you’re okay.”

Sometimes, it was still strange to see her brother so sweet with her, and she was still learning how to react properly. “Good to hear, I suppose.”

He reached across the table and grabbed at his own breakfast. “I didn’t exactly see it coming, but...he’s good for you. A perfect balance. I’m glad you asked him to stay.”

Azula hid her smile behind her cup of tea. Zuko would never hear her say it out loud, but she was glad that she had asked as well.


	50. Safe

There were parts of her life that weren’t quite fixed yet. She still needed her tea, she still needed to talk, her dreams weren’t always pleasant, and sometimes things became positively overwhelming. 

But there was a freedom in having something stable to hold on to — something that didn’t fill you with dread, nerves, anger, or fear. Something that made you feel safe. Against all odds, Aang fulfilled that feeling of safety. Personally, she didn’t care about the process and she didn’t care about the specifics. 

Sometimes, it was better to just appreciate the ends for what they were.


End file.
